William Stafford

(January 17, 1914 – August 28, 1993 / Kansas)

Lit Instructor

Poem by William Stafford

Day after day up there beating my wings
with all the softness truth requires
I feel them shrug whenever I pause:
they class my voice among tentative things,

And they credit fact, force, battering.
I dance my way toward the family of knowing,
embracing stray error as a long-lost boy
and bringing him home with my fluttering.

Every quick feather asserts a just claim;
it bites like a saw into white pine.
I communicate right; but explain to the dean--
well, Right has a long and intricate name.

And the saying of it is a lonely thing.

Comments about Lit Instructor by William Stafford

  • Moe Lester (9/6/2018 10:49:00 PM)

    I like this poem.(Report)Reply

    0 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Stephen Shindler (2/3/2012 1:27:00 PM)

    I like sandwiches. They taste good.(Report)Reply

    2 person liked.
    5 person did not like.
  • john tiong chunghoojohn tiong chunghoo (3/25/2006 12:28:00 AM)

    yes, it is so true:

    my contribution

    a feather flies
    into sight
    i must really get on with life(Report)Reply

    1 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
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Read poems about / on: family, dance, lonely, truth, lost, home

Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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